Potter's Paddle
by Fenrir Greyback
Summary: Two Potters, one unwilling, a few chains, and a single paddle. What more could you ask for?  Warning: slash, incest, BDSM, noncon. Oneshot, complete.


**A/N**: Just a quick, lime fresh one shot. It features a young James (16) and an older Harry (late 20s to 30ish) together in the naughty sense of the word. Don't like? Don't read. 

**A/N 2**: I don't know what possessed me to write this one. Honestly. It just...sort of bloomed in all of fifteen minutes. So here it is. It's rated M for obvious reasons, but there's no actual sex depicted here, as that would probably get me booted off very quickly. I may upload the full version of it elsewhere sometime.

**Disclaimer**: Harry Potter belongs to J.K Rowling, not me. I'm making no profit from this. Unless you consider the happiness that comes with churning out boysmut a profit. Then sure.

* * *

James Potter was bound and gagged and thoroughly naked. A cold steel pole supported by naught but a well placed Levitation Charm had been placed under his stomach, making it impossible for the black-haired teen to do anything but crouch there, embarrassingly, with his arse in the air.

His son, Harry Potter, loomed over him.

With the paddle.

_Fuck, the paddle!_

Tears of pain and humiliation streamed silently down James's face.

"What was that? The third or the fourth? I've lost count already." said Harry, pulling back the paddle to examine it idly.

James tensed up, letting loose a muffled scream when wood connected with tender flesh.

"Merlin. Guess we'll just have to start over from one again, won't we?"

He thrashed, his eyes going impossibly wide, grunting out a string of venemous profanities that got lost behind the ball gag. James loathed Harry Potter with every part of his being. He could not bring himself to believe he'd helped aid in the creation of such a sadist. _He gets it from Lily,_ he told himself. _He definitely gets it from Lily_...

The idea that he had finally won the hard-to-get redhead over, while pleasing, did nothing to improve his mood.

"Unless..." Harry had stopped with the wooden edge of the paddle stroking over the crease of the teenager's crack. "You're getting tired of this game. Are you, Dad? 'Cause I've got a few others in mind."

"Nmf!!"

Harry ignored the protest, saying, "Sorry, I can't understand a thing you're saying." while removing his outer robes. Stripped down to his muggle shirt and trousers he dropped down onto the bed, crawling over to sit astride his father, who grunted against the newly added weight to his back. Harry leaned in close, brushing his lips across the nape of James's neck, making all the small hairs stand on end. "I reckon your jaw is getting sore with that gag in. Here. Let me..." he fingered the clasp of the gag, mastering it a moment later and tossing it aside.

"_Get off me, you bloody shirtlifter!_" James screamed, straining against the chains that held him in place. They were taut. He had nowhere to go.

"Hey." said Harry, his emerald eyes narrowing. He grabbed himself a handful of the hair that was identical to his own, and shoved the face (that was also very like his own) down into the mattress. "You could really scar a kid up by saying careless things like that...what kind of a father are you?"

Between the weight pressing into his back, and his face against the mattress, James couldn't breathe. His back muscles stiffened, his hands clenched into fists. He fought to push himself up but it was no use. Wildly, he thought he was going to die, here, underneath his psychotic, shirtlifter son. _This can't be happening_... he thought, squeezing his eyes shut tight.

Just when the black behind James's eyelids brightened to an impossible white, his head was yanked back up. He gasped in great mouthfuls of wonderful life giving air, his entire body quaking violently.

"I'll give you something else to do with your mouth." Harry chuckled.

_Zip_.

James closed his eyes.

He couldn't look into Lily's emerald eyes, not anymore...

* * *

"Oy."

"...Huh?"

The room, the chains, the gag, it was all gone. Disappeared.

Wondering whether it had all been a dream he glanced around.

"Oy, Harry,"

"Yeah?" Harry answered, finally recognizing the voice as George Weasley's.

"Just thought I'd check up. How's the Patented Daydream Charm treating you?"

"Beautifully, George." said Harry. He remembered now. It hadn't been a dream at all. At least...not in the usual sense. A daydream was what it was. A perfectly controlled, perfectly wonderful daydream.

George grinned broadly. "I'll leave you to it then." Harry barely threw him a glance as he retreated back the way he came.

Harry's fingers strayed to the tent in the crotch of his trousers. He closed his eyes...thinking of James Potter, every bit as arrogant and disrespectful as Severus Snape had claimed.

And in dire need of a thrashing.

* * *

**A/N**: ...I wonder how many people are going to kill me for this one? I do realize it's an unlikely scenario. Still, aren't most fantasies just that? Unlikely? I'd really appreciate a review or two. But no flames please. 


End file.
